Oh, Greenland lies frozen, and Iceland is lost, as the maelstrom bellows its deafening roar,
No diesel to drive us, no power to net, just a corpse of a ship that will fish nevermore.
Five days without sunlight, the panels sit dumb, like tombstones adrift on a watery grave,
And the storm howls laughter at men who would dare to shackle the sea with the dreams of a knave.
The cook’s in his bunk with a bottle for warmth, his stew pot long dry and his belly full tight,
So corned beef it is, with tea steeped in bilge, as we wallow and roll in the desolate night.
The captain stands cursing the fools back on shore, who’ve stripped him of engines and left him with air,
No fish in the hold, no spark in the wires, just silence and hunger and rum left to spare.
Oh, Sparky’s no help, for the bottle is drained, and he snores in the dark with a grin on his face,
No charge in the cells, no juice in the lines, no light but the lightning that mocks our disgrace.
For Net Zero’s wisdom has damned us to drift, a ghost-ship of fools in the tempest’s embrace,
And the sea, never tamed, roars loud in reply, "Your masters on land should be thrown in my place!"
(By John Shenton)